


Limerence

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Evil, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bottom Dan Howell, Drama, Genital Torture, Graphic Description, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Beta Read, Physical Abuse, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Slow To Update, Top Phil Lester, Torture, Triggers, crazy phil lester, psychotic, very dubcon for many reasons, worse than cherry fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “You’ve only been holding that for a couple minutes but you look like you’re going to pass out,” It wasn’t a question, more of an observation. “When was the last time you went to the gym?”His gaze is unwavering and Dan doesn’t believe in love at first sight but if he did, it would suck to meet his soulmate surrounded by the stink of wet dog. The unadulterated vehemence of his stare is enough to cause the hair on the back of Dan’s neck to stand up. He’s frozen, unable to tear his eyes away.Clearing his throat, all snark evaporated, he says the first thing that comes to mind, “What’s a gym?”The story where Dan wakes up tied to his bed.





	1. Face numb and mouth sour

**Author's Note:**

> Not sorry for this fic, it's only here to explore my abilities to write horror. 
> 
> Please be careful before reading. It's kind of vivid and hard to get through unless you've got a strong stomach.
> 
> Since this is just an outlet for me to explore creativity, don't expect fast updates. I'm in the middle of another fic atm and won't put this on any priority.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of glass breaking wakes him up, an echo-ish reverberate that’s piercing to his sensitive ears and pulsating head. The back of his skull quivered like an exposed heart; the front doesn’t miss the thrumming, though. It’s like a sharp repetitive stabbing sensation at his temple and a spoon digging into his eyeball— a melon baller might be more effective, plucking it out and using a dull rusty butter knife to cut the optic nerve.

  
It’s the worst hangover he’s ever had.

 

He doesn't open his eyes, though, they’re too heavy to attempt it, groggy and practically glued together with an overabundance of crusty sleep. He must’ve left his window open, allowing his sinuses to react accordingly and create a tonne of eye mucus. He’s tempted to doze back into the comfort of his dreams and sleep off the doomed allergies, but the destructive shattering and his full bladder are enough to make him curious to know what was happening.

 

After a couple of seconds, he pries his eyes open with enough strength to open that marmite jar the other day— fuck you, Louise, honestly—  immediately regretting it as the air hits his exposed vision, it’s so uncomfortably dry. Definitely, allergies acting up, or maybe just the hangover using all his moisture to combat the copious amount of alcohol in his system.

Eye’s now open, he’s exposed to the nausea portion of his hangover. Empty stomach aching and gurgling like a fortissimo in the too quiet room. His stomach lurches, the sensation to puke is sudden and crippling even though his stomach is void of substance. His hunger is indisputable, Dan has never felt this famished in his entire life. It was as if his insides were hollowed out and withering from lack of use. Everything being blurry wasn’t exactly helping either.

And there are relentless shudders travelling down his spine from the frosty atmosphere.

The earlier assumption of the window being open is reaffirmed when he realises the temperature of the air around him. His face is numb and he's not sure if it’s from the arctic chill of the room or if he literally can't feel his face. Focusing, he can tell his lips are chapped and cracked to hell, practically an invitation for cold sores.

     

Now that he’s paying attention, there’s something sticky on his mouth holding his lips tightly together. It’s pinching his bottom lip awkwardly, keeping him muzzled like an aggressive dog that might bite if he feels threatened. He has a feeling his voice isn’t the only thing being held in. His mouth tastes sour, kind of like a rotten egg. Tongue bulky and uncomfortable, it’s almost as if all the saliva has been drained from him. A huge mass is lodged in, forcing his jaw to be held open. Dan realises he’d gagged. A dirty sock is stuffed between his teeth, held in with a layer of duct tape.

     

He swears Louise and Tyler are pranking him way too much this month. First with the glued shut marmite jar, then the absence of lightbulbs in his flat, He wasn’t expecting them to take it to this level, though. They were probably just as wasted as he was last night and didn’t realise they were taking it a step too far.

   

He tries to move his arm up to shield the abrasive rays of sun coming in through the open window, or to tear off the duct tape, but his arms lay limp by his sides. Actually, they’re tied down. The situation is slowly spiralling from a drunken prank his mates pulled on him to a serious emergency. He’s tied down to a bed, eyes still adjusting to the morning sunlight, and completely vulnerable.

   

His sight still gauzy like cheesecloth wrapped around his retinas, Dan can make out the outline of a looming figure above him. His hand's tremor, the silhouette emerges against the indistinguishable background. His eyes feel dry, uncomfortable, and disoriented. It's like he's looking at the world through the bottom of a beer bottle.

     

It feels like, even if his body wasn't tied to the bed, he still couldn't move under the stranger's hot stare. It’s an undercurrent of dominance he’d never experienced before, practically pinning him down with psychological weight instead of physical.

     

And his legs are bound to the bedposts.

  
     

The figure is tall and lean, with soft muscles. He can clearly see the shape of the person, but he can’t understand the face. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, facial features cut into pieces and arranged irregularly that form a visage when fitted together. Dan stares right into the vacuumed scramble of where the figure face should be, but it doesn’t unjumble. The fact is he can't make out who this person is, and it’s terrifying.

   

If this really is a kidnapping then he's drugged. No hangover can make you lose recognition for faces. But when would he have been slipped anything? He never takes drinks from strangers, doesn’t leave his drinks unattended, or even smokes after anyone. He’s always careful about night outs, never tries to become inebriated because he’s usually the designated driver.

     

Then with sudden realisation, his eyes travel down to the vibrant tee.

     

“I wasn’t expecting you to be out so long. Might’ve accidentally given you a bigger dose than needed,” Phil’s accent was more northern than the last time they had spoken, he sounded sincerely guilty and embarrassed about the mess up, “Sorry, Dan. You forgive me, though, yeah? Nod yes if you do.”

     

Of course, it's Phil, he thinks bitterly.

 

  
  

It makes him remember the first time he saw Phil. It was almost three months ago, he’d been accompanying Louise to the veterinarian, taking her cat, Rocket, for a painless check up. She’d been frantic about it, not having a car of her own to transport the feline and there was a strict policy against animals on the tube. Dan had volunteered graciously.

     

When they’d arrived at the veterinarian's office, Dan offered to tote the carrier to the waiting room while Louise goes to the front to check in and pay. As soon as he crosses the barrier from the receptionists to the lobby, it’s like a film of putrid aroma slits and pulls him into the bubble. He’s smelt wet dog before but never so intensely. It’s like a mixture of burning flat ironed hair and corked wine, potent and rank.

     

After a couple minutes, his arm’s start to grow tired from the tedious heaviness. He’s about to give up and put the crate on the ground when a voice pipes up from behind him.

   

“You’ve only been holding that for a couple minutes but you look like you’re going to pass out,” It wasn’t a question, more of an observation. “When was the last time you went to the gym?”

     

The blatant belittling made a flush blossom onto Dan’s cheeks and his arms to tighten around the carrier. Preparing his thoughts, Dan turns to face his opponent with a few barbs to dish back. Everything comes to a halt when he sees the rival.

     

He had a narrow, oblong face with angular cheekbones and a pointed chin. Iris's intense and blue cold, like ice. They were wide open eyes that reflect a hot white rage more intense than normal. With fair porcelain skin and black hair; he had a Pierce Brosnan look about him. But his high arched nose reflected Marilyn Manson more.

     

His gaze is unwavering and Dan doesn’t believe in love at first sight but if he did, it would suck to meet his soulmate surrounded by the stink of wet dog. The unadulterated vehemence of his stare is enough to cause the hair on the back of Dan’s neck to stand up. He’s frozen, unable to tear his eyes away.

     

Clearing his throat, all snark evaporated, he says the first thing that comes to mind, “What’s a gym?”

     

Instead of laughing at the cringe joke, the man continues to stare assertively. He tilts his head to the side, keeping his eyes glued to Dan’s face, lips pulled into a tight grimace. Before Dan can make a self-deprecating quip to sever the awkward moment, Louise walks in and does it for him.

     

She walks over to the man, holding out her hand for a shake. He doesn’t acknowledge her presence right away, eyes locked with Dan for what seems is one hundred years. Eventually, he looks away and grasps Louise’ hand, mostly her fingers like he’s too disgusted to truly touch her palm, for a quick greeting. After they unlink, he wipes his hand on his trousers.

   

 “Doctor Lester, right?” She asked, not pausing or skipping a beat before continuing, “I’m the mummy of this precious kitten here. Coming in for a checkup and it seems you’re our new vet since our usual one left. Doctor Kjellberg moved to Brighton, I heard. The London scene was too much for him, I bet.”

      

The silence stretches out for an uncomfortable amount of time, Louise not noticing the gap in conversation and Dan developing hives from stress, when Doctor Lester finally speaks. “Call me Phil. I’m not posh enough to even consider being called something so formal.”

     

Louise laughs loudly, utterly charmed as much as Dan is pretending not to be, clutching her stomach and bending over, “If we’re talking posh, Daniel over here takes the cake. He’s basically Christopher Robin.”

     

Phil takes the opportunity to look at Dan again, “More Winnie the Pooh, I think.”

 

   

"I’m right here, gu—” Dan starts, a little irritated.

 

“Let’s go examine your cat,” Phil interrupts him.  
     

He’d never been so directly cut-off like that. Unmistakably brushed away like his words didn’t matter. What he was going to say wasn’t even that important, just a silly complaint, yet it still made him feel less adequate. Dan inwardly sighed, didn’t know why he was getting so worked up over something so insignificant. Besides, Louise unsurprisingly thought it was hilarious, face as red as a beat from giggling.

  
     

His mouth was gagged, but that doesn’t stop him from grunting in disapproval. He’s not that scared anymore, Phil is just doing this to make him crawl back pathetically. No, he’s not scared, he’s mad. Dan’s mad because this won’t work. He’s mad because he sees that his window isn’t open like he previously thought, it’s smashed. The shattering glass sound was his window being broken.

     

Humming into the sock, Dan tries to speak or make any comprehensive noise. Unfortunately, the amplification of his attempts is just barely the same volume of a field mouse. He, himself, can barely hear it over the thunderous heartbeat and blood rushing in his ears. Now that he’s thinking about it, the drug Phil gave him probably wouldn’t allow him to speak anyway. Syllables slurred and voice unable to form words.

  
     

Phil even looks unimpressed, an expression Dan wasn’t familiar with on his kidnapper's face. The time they had spent together, however brief and full of impulsive passion it might have been, Phil always looked at Dan with lasciviousness. No, it was more of a dangerous glint in his eye. Obsession, Tyler had warned. Dan never took it seriously.

  
     

He can’t keep his eyes from Phil tee-shirt, it’s not what he is expecting. Phil’s usual wardrobe was office appropriate, or scrubs if he just got out of surgery. Seeing him in real people clothes, no matter the context was a strange experience. The shirt has got a bunch of shibas on it. In particular, Doge, all clustered together.

  
     

“You know, I wondered what your reaction to being tied up might be.”

  
     

His voice is like razor sharp nails running down a chalkboard combined with heavenly angels singing lovely melodies. It’s confusing to listen to, the mixture causing his ears to tingle. Half of him wants to struggle against his restraints, try to escape and possibly harm Phil in the process. The other half wants to stay as still as a statue, listening to every sordid word that comes out of his abductor's mouth. Considering he can’t even twitch his nose, he remains stoic.

     

He replays the words in his mind, Dan wonders how long Phil was planning on this kidnapping. If it was thought out to every detail, if anything had gone wrong, or if Phil regretted tying Dan to this bed. If they were in court right now, he could be tried as a premeditated attempt of murder. Well, that’s if Phil decides he likes Dan too much to kill him. Dan hopes, prays to a God he doesn’t believe in, that Phil doesn’t plan on murdering him.  
  
   

 

“Obviously, I knew you’d be upset.” He steps closer to the bed, and it’s then that Dan notices the knife in his hands. He tries to scoot away to no avail, the binds strapping him down only grow tighter. Phil ignores his struggling and sits on the edge of the mattress, caressing the blade between his thumb and forefinger. “That’s your personality after all; being upset. Maybe that’s why I was hoping you’d be different. But here you are, squirming identically to all the others.”

  
       

If he can appease Phil, maybe he can get out of this unscathed. Dan tries to be still, but his body won’t let him. It’s like his mind has gone into survival mode, shaking like a leaf. As far as he can tell the drugs have completely worn off, leaving him in a weird state of thought. The outer parts of his vision are blurred and his skin has this weird chilled sensory deprived inkling. Pins and needles everywhere the duct tape and straps touch. He takes quick, sharp breathes through his nose and counts to ten before going motionless. He’s completely still beside his left toe twitching, fluttering like a wing of a butterfly.

  
     

It’s enough to make Phil’s lip quirked into his signature sexy smirk. It’s like a trigger in his memory, stirring up thoughts he would rather forget. Dan shutters at his own silly harebrained attraction. Why does he have to still like the guy? Honestly, even though he tried to get over Phil, the man never left his mind no matter how abusive the relationship was. It’s unhealthy, and he tried to talk to his mates about it, but no matter what he did, Phil seemed like a cornerstone in his brains foundation.

  
     

“This is one of my favourite knifes. The blade—” Phil starts, cutting off mid-sentence to bring the edge close to his ear, he flicks the razor-sharp side of the blade. The sound is blunt, like plucking a string on a guitar. His sighs roughly, whispering now. “—is sharpened to perfection. This doesn’t just cut, it carves. Strong enough to penetrate muscles and tendons in one fatal blow. I would warn you not to touch it, but you don’t have much control over that now, do you?”

  
     

Phil slides the knife along the seam in Dan pants, not hard just teasing. He does this a few times, almost ritualistically. His face is passive and deep in thought. “If I remove the gag will you stay quiet? If you try to scream, I’ll stab this knife into your thigh. You might think that it wouldn’t be a fatal injury, and you’d still be able to escape, but I might sever your femoral artery. That artery is the main oxygen-filled blood supplier to your legs, it would have the same effect as cutting your neck. Taking about four minutes to completely bleed out and die. So, all I’m asking is for you to remain silent. Nod if you understand.”

  
     

Nodding shallowly, Dean gulps around the sock. His saliva is going to permanently taste of rotten egg at this point. Phil grabs the edge of the tape and slowly peels it off, pulling it away from the skin in a slow two-second tug. He whimpers in discomfort, teeth clenched into the fabric of the sock as a metaphorical wooden spoon. It feels like that one time Lou convinced him to let her wax his legs, or when he was small and his Nan would leisurely drag off his plasters.

  
   

“I know, I know it hurts,” Phil’s expression hungry, hair-raising on the back of Dan’s neck, as he observes his wincing. He finally rips off the edge, leaving only the soft sting as a reminder. The sock sits heavy on his tongue, steady and perpetual. Phil traces his bottom lip with his finger, then trades it for the almost forgotten knife. The tip nicks the corner of his mouth, extracting a small, swathed snivel. “It’s very important that you stay quiet. Your flat’s walls are paper thin, and before we relocate I need to make sure you won't ruin it. The transfer, I mean. I can always drug you again, but I’d rather we simply walk to my car and drive off.”

  
     

Dan tried to become still again, control his body's instinctive shivering, mind whirling with possibilities. If he played along, got outside his building and onto the bustling London Street, there was a chance he’d be free. Phil watches him, analysing his reaction with a cute tilt to his head. Dan settled into the bed with as much grace as he had left. A few moments passed, Phil casually staring at him. Apparently, he figured out what he wanted, with a swift tug the sock was out of his mouth. Dan sucked in a huge breath, cool air hitting the back of his throat and new saliva forming to deaden the nasty taste lingering on his tongue.  
  
 

   

“Speak,” Phil says, leaning closer. “Reassure me you won’t try to run.”

  
     

Involuntarily squirming, Dan tries to speak, “I, uh—”

  
     

He slips into a coughing fit, hacking hard at the scratchy dryness of his throat. He senses the mucus building up at the back of his tongue break off ceremoniously, shooting like a rocket out of his mouth and splattering all over his chest. Phil pulls a tiny cup from his bedside table, water sloshing over the sides, bringing it to Dan’s lips and pouring it assertively into his desiccated mouth. “Drink up, as soon as you polish off the water we can leave. Be a good boy, Dan.”

  
     

Some of the water outflows the corners of his mouth, but its instantaneous satisfaction overweights the want to be neat. The cup is drained before he knows it, water covering his chin and neck from his sloppy drinking. Phil takes the cup away, crushing it in his fist and tossing it into the nearest bin. Dan closes his eyes and out-breaths in animated serenity, he hadn’t grasped how dehydrated he’d been. As the tidal wave of imminent trouble rolls over him, Dan peaks open one of his eyes to look at an anticipating Phil.

  
     

“I promise I won’t try to escape,” His ability to speak was stagnantly coarse, but he’s positive Phil didn’t mind.

 

     

“Why don’t I believe you?”

 

 _Because I'm lying_ , he thinks.

 

Spasming into a short cough, "I swear I won't try to run or yell or anything."

 

"What if I told you that your mate's lives were at risk?" Phil asks, curiously. "I'll kill both of them without a sweat if you try anything. I'll start with the pretty blonde girl, Louise, cutting her up and letting her blood drain from her body. Maybe mutilate her face, cut out her tongue, and break most of her bones. Then I'd move onto the little gay boy, Tyler. Mostly, it would be psychological torture with that one, since he knew he'd be next. I'd gut him, keeping him alive as I took out his organs. Showing him his own beating heart, watching the life slowly leave his eyes. If you be a good boy, I'll not do these things. I'll leave them alone. Your choice."

 

Wailing, Dan was unable to breathe, it was like every atom of his being screamed in unison. The pain that flowed from him was as tangible as the frigid wind blowing in through the broken window. Phil watched him cry, face thoughtful and scientific almost as if he was experimenting with Dan's emotions. His body jerked with each sob raking through his body and he cried until no more tears came. He was just seizing silently, shaking hard as the previous words traumatized his mind. Phil was a monster, and this wasn't happening. It couldn't be, this was a dream. He could feel his body shutting down as his useless survival instinct came over him. 

 

Eyeing him dumbly for almost a full minute, Dan belatedly speaks, staggered from weeping. "Don't hurt them, Phil. Please."

 

"Good enough," Phil replies, patting Dan's side carefully. 

 

He begins to undo the bonds on Dan's wrists, bending over him to casually untie them. His scent invades Dan's nostrils without permission, making him dizzy. His smell is intoxicating. A blend of coffee and pine-sol, so familiar and delicious that Dan nearly whines. Subconsciously inching his nose a little closer to his neck, Phil's aroma is sublime. The coffee portion is like freshly ground beans, warm and liquid running down his throat and settling low in his stomach. The pine-sol is a little different, like walking in a forest in the crisp winter air. He takes a deep breath and grimaces. Why is he torturing himself like this? Phil just nonchalantly mentioned murdering his best friends and here he is getting all ardent over the guy's fragrance.

 

Phil licks his lips and Dan's eyes follow the motion, unable to stop. This sexual attraction was unconscious, he couldn't help himself. His hands are free now, he brings them down to his chest and rubs the sore parts of his wrists. There will be bruises rising soon, he can feel them just below the surface. Phil begins undoing the ropes around his ankles, fingers working quick.

 

He looks back over at the broken window, interest peaking. "Why did you break my window?"

 

"To wake you up," Phil says with a crooked smirk. "Got your attention, didn't it?"

 

Shivering at the sinister look, Dan agrees, "Yes. It'll be Hell to pay off, though."

 

"You won't need to worry about that," He replies, finishing untying the ropes and rising to his feet. "All done. Let's get a move on."

 

Standing up is hard, primarily after having those drugs rush through his body. It feels like his entire centre is broken, no point of gravity as his head is overcome with tardy vertigo. As his feet touched his flats floor, Dan felt a charge of emotion he couldn't even begin to explain. The room smudges as his mind try to concentrate, his legs are trembling and cramping as they try to hold his weight. He falters, toppling as his left knee gives out without warning, catching himself right before he falls. His barefoot toes curled into the carpeting as he shifted from foot to foot, Phil viewing him with stony eyes. It's like a test if Dan drops that means he's frail and useless. And Dan has to prove he's not weak.

 

Phil wraps his arm around Dan's waist, holding him upright as they make the slow trek to the front door. It's tedious, the gruellingly sluggish step is like an itch just begging to pick up the pace, Dan's limbs shaking the entire way.  When they finally make it to the door, Dan has to take a break, leaning against the frame with laboured pants pushing their way into his lungs. His home line rings, shrill and warbling, ripping through the air and making him jump. They ignore it, though Dan knows's it's Louise and her daily ring— such a mummy and she hasn't even had the baby yet, going out into the hall and tottering to the lift.

 

Luckily there's no bellboy in this dingy block of flats, meaning his restraint isn't being examined. If someone spoke to him, he's sure he'd spill everything. Pressing his face into the crook of Phil's neck, Dan takes a quick breath. He's doing this for Louise and Tyler, if he remains quiet and doesn't make a scene then they'll stay alive. He runs the thought through his mind, over and over, reminding himself of what's to lose if he does anything questionable. 

 

Then, like a walking nightmare, Cat exits her flat adjacent his and waves excitingly at him. "Hey, Dan! How are you?"

 

_Shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect maybe 10k in total. I'm not sure. :)


	2. No one can hear  me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to ParzivalHallows.
> 
> I told you I was going to upload it. Sorry for the wait.
> 
> (If you want to message me any prompts or just talk, my twitter is @ImpalaLouie - I might even update people on future fics)
> 
> Comment, kudos, and bookmark! I appreciate the feedback.

"Hello Cathrine," Phil answers for him, tightening his hold on Dan's waist. "We were just heading out."

 

"Me too," Her eyes never leaving Dan's face, "I'll walk you guys out."

 

"You don't need to," Dan manages to whisper, trying to convey all his emotions into the sentence. 

 

She giggles, pulling her door shut, "Nonsense. I love doing anything with you."

 

Those words, they're like a death sentence. He feels Phil grow frigid and turbulent beneath his body, the words drawing out a primal response that Dan needed to calm. If he wanted to keep Cat safe, protected from the blatant jealous rampage Phil might go on with his favourite knife, he needs to tranquillize the beast. Fearful yet resolute, he takes his trembling hand and nervously strokes the back of Phil's arm. Like a charm, Phil loosens and lets his fiery gaze slip to Dan. It seems like molasses covering every inch of his exposed skin, the sceptical eyes watch him with desire. 

 

He looks at Dan curiously, like he's truly seeing him for the first time. With new found determination, Dan slips his hand to Phil's back, massaging it with a soothing pressure. Everything becomes dull around them, Dan only focusing on the psychopath in front of him. All his worries fad into his subconscious as he stares into the beauty of Phil's face, the beauty of his blue, green, and yellow eyes and his perfectly sharp cheekbones. He feels like the world is melting away; Cat isn't standing next to them with an uncomfortable slope to her swiftly declining smile, watching them like it's a high definition movie where the ending reveals a murder-suicide. 

 

"And who is this fine gentleman?" Cat finally says, breaking the moment awkwardly.

 

Phil doesn't bother looking away, "I'm his boyfriend."

 

Dan wants to scream, _We broke up! He's insane and probably is going to kill me! Call 999!_ But all that would do is drag her into the "probably going to kill" group and he really didn't want her to die. No matter how awkward her come-ons were, and totally embarrassing because he thought of her as one hundred percent platonic and she always was trying to date him.

 

American accent reigning true, dejected, "Oh. I didn't realise you— Well, maybe we can catch up later?"

 

"I doubt it, Cathrine," Phil leers, pulling them into the lift and waving at Cat's bewildered face. The doors slowly shut as he says, "Dan will never like you back. Give up."

 

"That was rude," Dan disapproves, the lift sliding down to the ground floor. He can just imagine Cat's expression; heartbroken.

 

Phil has an indistinguishable look about him, he reaches around to spank Dan's bottom. He lets out a girly shriek, the swat had stung and brought resentful tears to his eyes. "Shut up, Dan. I'm very mad at you right now and am tempted to go back up and slit Miss. Valdes' throat. She's very annoying, isn't she? How you stand to be around her, I'll never know. Maybe it's her looks. Do you enjoy her beauty? Is she why you broke up with me?"

 

"She's my friend," Dan whispers, voice wavering.

 

Phil nods, bringing his mouth to the shell of Dan's ear, "Yes, but the difference is that you don't want to fuck Tyler and Louise."

 

"I don't want—" Dan starts to deny.

 

"Shut up, Daniel," Phil repeats, eyes flashing menacingly. "I don't want your excuses."

 

Dan keeps his mouth clamped, hoping to avoid another smack and the death of his friend. He thinks of Phil and his job, a veterinarian. The medical profession seems to attract people with a pathological interest in the power of life and death. He vaguely remembers Phil telling him about how he transferred into the animal variety after he'd already studied to become a human doctor for years. He wonders how much medical knowhow he still remembers, how to perfectly scalpel or stitch an injury. How to carefully remove organs without hurting the host, or how to silently kill a person with one fatal stab. It sends a chill up his spine, he shifts at the response and unintentionally moves closer to Phil, pressing chest against chest.

 

He reflects back to the second time they ran into each other and consequently, the veterinary incident becoming a sad jokey story he'd tell at gatherings as a reason why he's a fail. The circle of characters always laughing at his cringy behaviour, and sufficiently draining any emotional connection he had with the event. He could talk about it without wincing, the dreamy doctor with a load of confidence and his own uncomfortable attempts at easing the awkwardness.

 

Tyler patting him sympathetically on the back about his horrible flirting attempts, and then going to sleep with a fucking pornstar because at least one of them was good at being attracted to men. Louise would add little details, interjecting perfectly as they wove the story together, and claiming it was love at first sight and that she totally caught the sexual tension between them. Dan tries not to scoff every time she acts like she intercepted their vibe, Louise couldn't have been any more oblivious to the situation if she tried. The handsome veterinarian became Dan's "one that got away" to all his mates, like an inside joke that Dan accepted with a hesitant chuckle.

 

It felt ironic that the second time they actually met was in the middle of the hundredth time he told the story. 

 

Those sharp eyes fastened onto his face with perfect precision. He was just getting to the part where the vet had been his soulmate when Dan saw him, an amused quirk to his lips and interest dancing in his intense eyes. Dan blunders, mouth gaping, because this triumphs their last embarrassing moment together by a tenfold. It doesn't help that someone shouts out from the crowd of people that Dan's relaying a classic. He tries to figure out why Phil had been invited to Chris' party, the odds of it not making any sense theoretically when you remember the size of London and the actuality that the vet has similar friends to Dan. 

 

Tyler comes to his rescue, face concerned as he claps his hand on Dan's shoulder, "Are you okay?"

 

"Uh," Dan can't tear his stare away from Phil's smirk. "Said veterinarian is standing here in this room. Guess the cats out of the bag."

 

"Was that a pun, Winne the Pooh?" Phil mocks, standing up to his full height. Everyone in the room catches on, laughter filling the previously confused silence.

 

Embarrassment curdles inside, his face heating up and the peaks of his cheeks turning pink. He can't break eye contact with Phil, it's like their hearts are locked together without the key. He's never felt like this before. Embarrassment mixed with anticipation, each one trying to overpower the other as the seconds pass without a word spoken between them. The entire crowd is leaning in on their seats like they're watching the end of an, especially mushy rom-com. It's like he's staring in love actually. He's Keira Knightley and Phil is Andrew Lincoln.

 

Stiffly scratching the back of his neck, " _Um_. This is awkward. Sorry for telling people about you, I guess."

 

"Yes," Phil agrees, right in front of Dan now. "I could sue you for using my name without permission."

 

He couldn't tell if Phil was flirting, or if that a sign to call his lawyer. "See you in court then."

 

"How about we go somewhere more private?" Phil asks, scoring an _oooooooh_ from their audience. "So I can get your contact info for my lawyer."

 

Before Dan could say anything, Phil seized his hand and started pulling him towards a secluded spot. The dominance was thrilling, Dan decided, truly out of control for the first time in his life. It was scary, but when he saw the excellence of Phil's face, everything evaporated besides awe. Tyler gave him a concerned glance, worried, before Dan was pulled out onto the snowy balcony. It was freezing out here, his breath visible and puffing out of his mouth with every gasp. The coldness made his fingers numb, besides where Phil was touching.

 

"It's very flattering how obsessed with me you are," Phil says, hand squeezing around Dan's.

 

Coughing, Dan blushes and looks down. "I'm not obsessed. It's just a funny story to tell."

 

"Is that why all those people were calling me your soulmate?" Phil asks, teasingly.

 

"That's just a joke," Dan scrambles to correct. "I mean, you know those guys, just trying to get laughs."

 

Phil doesn't look convinced, "Well, that's too bad. I was going to give you my number."

 

"You still can," Dan says immediately, almost screaming, jolted. "I mean, yeah. Totally. Soulmates. We can tell this story to our grandchildren."

 

Phil chuckles, eyes pinching at the corners, "You're just as adorable as I remember you." 

 

They stand in compatible silence for a few misplaced seconds, the air becoming warm around them with tenderness and desire. Dan shivers but not from the cold, he shifts closer to Phil's chest and lets out a little noise when the vet wraps his arms snuggly around Dan's waist. Their noses almost brushing, Dan counts Phil's eyelashes and clutches tightly at his coat. 

 

Flurrie starts to fall, landing on Phil's cheeks. Dan murmurs, "You're very handsome."

 

"I know," Phil replies, smirking and pulling Dan into a kiss.

 

 

The lift dings, opening on the ground floor. They're in the same position as when they were on Chris' balcony, he thinks. Phil pulls him out before the door closes, entering the lobby and walking past the doorman. The lobby of his flat is pretty ugly, a medley of ocherous and rosy colours with a checkered board pattern on the walls. The carpeting is coffee-coloured, and there is an obnoxiously huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. 

 

They make it out of the building without any incidences, Dan pressing his mouth against Phil's shoulder in case his body betrays him and yells for help. When they get onto the street, however, someone stops them. People are walking down the pavement, bustling around without a care in the world. They don't realise that he's being kidnapped, that Dan is going to die. The sheer amount of bodies and noise is enough to make Dan's head hurt. He has to bite his lip, drawing blood, to stop from shouting. His mouth is bleeding pretty heavily, he realises. People giving them strange looks.

 

A woman stops them, worry on her face. She's looking at Dan. "You okay, sir?"

 

The words  _help me_ rise in his throat, but Dan stays soundless.

 

Phil gives her a frown, "We're fine, Ma'am. How about you mind your own, yeah?"

 

How would Phil react right now if Dan tried to run? Would he pull out a gun, his favourite knife? Is Phil even armed? What if he didn't make a scene, and instead waited until Dan left to murder his friends. If Dan got to the police first, relaying all the threats by Phil, everything would be fine. But is the risk worth it? Phil could kill this woman right now just to keep Dan from escaping. 

 

The woman doesn't look appeased, instead firming her stance. "I'll go when this young man assures me everything okay."

 

Words freeze in Dan's throat. People in London usually didn't care about others like this, of course, the one time Dan was being kidnapped there was a concerned citizen. He notices her bag, a Manchester pin attached to the side. _Ah_ , he realises, probably not a local. He takes a breath, steeling himself to speak. Phil looks pissed off, like he's marking the woman for his kill list. She looks at Dan, expecting him to reply.

 

She resembles his mother so much, he lets quick sob.

 

"I'm fine," The words are brittle but passable.

 

She frowns but nods, "Alright, dove. But know that male on male domestic abuse is real. You don't need to be scared."

 

He cries again, "Thank you."

 

He looks back at her, wishing she would understand him somehow. See past his words and call the police, even though he knows she can't. She finally leaves, and Dan sighs. Half of him is upset, the other is relieved. Maybe she will still think the interaction is weird, call the police and get him listed as a missing person. But then, that's expecting too much. He presses himself closer to Phil, hoping with all his might that he could leave this.

 

Phil pushes him into the right side of his car, walking around the front to get to the driver's side. 

 

A cute couple is making out in the next car over, pressing into each other with passion and love. The windows fog up accordingly, and Dan watches them, knowing that it's rude but unable to stop himself. All he wants is for them to stop, look over at him and realise something is wrong. But they keep snogging, so in love that it hurts to look at them. Phil kissed him like that once, on the balcony between snow falling and embarrassing confessions. His seatbelt is clicked on, Phil probably doing it but Dan not noticing.

 

The door slams shut, locking automatically. 

 

He's locked in.

 

He's not going to get out of this. The realisation hitting him abruptly.

 

Dan feels dead already.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please comment and help me decide what to do next on this, I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> If you find any grammar, spelling, or general errors, I'll put you at the endnotes of this fic as official supporters. (:


End file.
